


The Hero: Foyfoy

by foyfoy, heroalba



Category: Senyuu. (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, More tags to be added, Roleswap, creasion!foyfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-10-01 20:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20402917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foyfoy/pseuds/foyfoy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/heroalba/pseuds/heroalba
Summary: What if everything was rewritten? What if instead of the hero Creasion, someone else filled that role?





	The Hero: Foyfoy

**Author's Note:**

> i thought of this au at like 2 am and then hashed out a lot of details with my best bud @estmano before writing everything you see here with help from him. i'm already mad this is my longest fic i've ever posted, and we already have more chapters in the works. i debated posting it here until after we had more but i also want to see if y'all are receptive to this sort of rewrite 👀

His head feels like it’s splitting open. Malfoy catches a glimpse of a cloudless blue sky and elects to squeeze his eyes shut again, nausea welling in the pit of his gut from the light.

_ Fuck. _

“What happened?” he wonders, wincing as his voice agitates his headache. Malfoy takes a deep breath, the air hissing out from between his teeth on the exhale. _ Did I die or something? _

No, he isn’t dead. First off, it’s impossible for that to happen unless someone managed to get into the rift with him. Secondly, the way his whole body feeling like a punching bag is a painful reminder that life still has him in its clutches. _ Unfortunate. _ With that knowledge out of the way, Malfoy does a quick body scan-- all his limbs are still there, even as sore as they are. Actually, sore isn’t the right word. His whole body feels battered, but in a way that makes it feel like he’s been sleeping for far, far too long.

Malfoy sits up, and the nausea settles from being not-that-bad to the taste of bile in his throat and the very real danger of vomiting on his dingy khakis becomes way too apparent for his comfort. He sucks in a shallow breath, willing himself not to throw up, and slowly opens his eyes again. He’s met with the sight of several mesa and a desert-like landscape that stretches on beyond the horizon. The light and color do absolutely nothing to ease the pain, and Malfoy closes his eyes to think through his current situation.

“I’m not in the rift anymore. Okay. How did I wake up, and is _ he _ also-?”

“Run!”

Malfoy whips around, his body shrieking instantly in protest, to find the source of the cry. A boy is running towards him, and Malfoy squints at him. He’s overtly plain-looking, and doesn’t look hurt aside from the terrified look on his face. The reason for the expression is clear to see when Malfoy glances up, his eyes widening slightly at the tornado tearing up the earth behind the boy.

“Oh, fuck.”

He hadn’t even noticed the wind blowing erratically all around him, so stunned from waking up anywhere but the dimensional rift. Malfoy doesn’t like how relieved he feels just from seeing another human being that wasn’t _ him _ , and his fingers inch across the dirt to pinch himself. Human being… inwardly he snorts as he punches his wrist to confirm he isn’t dreaming; _ human being _ sure is a gracious way of referring to the nightmare he’s been trapped with for a number of years he’s lost count of.  
“You there! Run away!” 

Ah, right. That. 

The boy’s getting closer, somehow outrunning the violent cyclone, and Malfoy pulls himself to his feet on knees shakier than he’d like to acknowledge. He stares at the tornado almost boredly, narrowing his eyes. His head throbs at the movement as he lifts a hand, lips quirking up into a confident smile.

Something like this is child’s play for someone like him.

… or, it would be, if the rush of energy Malfoy associated with his mana would freakin’ _ show up _ and do his bidding. Malfoy stares at his hand, gritting his teeth in annoyance. He grips his wrist with his other hand, trying again to conjure that feeling and spitting out a curse when nothing happened. Squeezing his wrist harder, his bones groan and ache under the pressure. 

_ Work, goddammit! _ _  
_His bangs whip across his face, and Malfoy looks up to judge how much distance and time he has left. The boy (kid, Malfoy thought dazedly, because surely this guy can’t be the same age or older than him) tears past him, stopping only briefly to give Malfoy a scared look. Malfoy feels a hand grab his own, and he’s nearly tugged off his feet when the kid starts running again.

“What are you doing?! Come on, before you get caught up in it!”

* * *

A little bell above the door rings when they walk in, and Malfoy likens the feeling in his lungs to burning. The kid next to him doesn’t look too hot in that department either, gulping in air like he was suffocating. The boy took a few steps further into the store before his legs give out under him, and he sank ungracefully to the floor. Malfoy would have been concerned, but his only worry at the moment was making sure he didn’t do the same.

“Alba-kun? Are you okay?” 

The kindly old man behind the store counter peers over at the boy, worried. The boy- Alba apparently- takes a few more deep breaths, but he manages to give the old man a thumbs up to let him know he’s okay. 

“Just another storm, Cord-san,” Alba pants, sitting up. Cord makes an understanding noise in the back of his throat and turns, rummaging through his shelves. Malfoy steps further into the shop himself, feeling confident enough in his own legs to not need to lean against the doorframe anymore. As he moved, Malfoy feels the door heave at the pressure of the wind outside, and less than a second later the sound of rain begins to patter against the window. A mixture of anxiety and relief washes over him, and Malfoy sighs, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. At least his headache had gone away in their flight for shelter.

Malfoy startles when something cold nudges his hand, looking up to see Cord pressing a glass of water into his hand with a kind smile. Malfoy hesitates. He didn’t have a reason to distrust Cord, but he certainly didn’t have a reason to trust him yet, either. His eyes flit to Alba, who happily chugs his water, choking on it, before he let himself take the glass.

“Thank you,” he says warily, and Cord just smiles at him before shuffling back behind the counter. Alba wipes the dribbled mess of water from his lips and stands up, already looking leagues better even though Malfoy is sure nothing of his drink has even been swallowed properly.

“Thanks so much, Cord-san,” Alba says, coughing again, and Cord beams. Malfoy winces as a crack of thunder rolls through the air, and the lights flicker. Alba glances up, then back at Cord, who doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

_ Tough old man, _ Malfoy appraises, carefully sipping his water. He didn’t realize how thirsty he’d been, and Malfoy’s glass winds up empty in seconds. He sets the empty glass next to Alba’s on the counter, eyeing Alba to see if the boy’s going to make a move for his wallet or not. Malfoy didn’t know either of them, but Cord seemed nice enough to give them the water for free.

“I’m just glad to see you two made it here safely,” Cord says gently, carefully taking the glasses and refilling them. Alba reaches happily for his own, and Malfoy hums another short thanks. “These storms are getting much more vicious lately.”

Malfoy groans. _ I just had to wake up in a shit place. _

He takes another sip of water, glaring at the door and the tiny puddle of muddy water seeping in through the cracks at the bottom. It seems like things haven’t changed too much in the past- well, he doesn’t know nor have any sort of guess as to how long it’s been. The terrain isn’t all too different, and the last he remembers seeing before the all-encompassing white of the Rift had been storms.

“So you two know each other?” Malfoy asks, his voice finally returning to him in a crack. Alba and Cord both look at him, and Malfoy lazily motions between them with his finger. He needs some kind of conversation to keep him from thinking about all of _ that _. Luckily for him, Alba seems to light up at the question.

“Cord-san is the hero of Port City, y’know!” Cord opens his mouth to interject, but Alba keeps going, his eyes shining as he continues. “To get to the capital city further inland, all of us living on the coast have to cross through this desert. Before Cord-san set up his shop here, taking the journey was pretty much impossible!”

Alba grins, and Malfoy can’t help but be amused. If Alba thinks that’s heroic, he’s clearly naive or hasn’t met a real hero. The notion is noble, Malfoy admits, but it’s far from true heroism. _ I can show you that. _  
“Nobody wanted to set up a shop in a desert, so Cord-san is the hero of Port City. Now we can actually go to the city for things like trade and work!”

Cord looks thoroughly embarrassed, but he straightens up a bit to preen under the compliments. Malfoy resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead taking another sip of his water. Nothing Alba’s said so far is worthy of that self-absorbed expression creeping into Cord’s face.

“You praise me too much, Alba-kun,” is what he says, but the old man is chuckling and he turns to strike a pose, peering at them through his fingers with a grin. “I only wanted to lend a helping hand to travelers going to the city to set their dreams in motion!”

“Cord-san…!”

_ Maybe he is a hero, _Malfoy thinks absently, working to keep a straight face and not oogle at the old man like Alba is doing. He’s failing, pretty obviously by the way Alba turns to him and grins. Malfoy can tell he’s beginning to mirror the expression and he feels a faint blush tease at his cheeks, raising his glass to gnaw on the rim and hopefully disguise it.

“It’s an honor, Cord-san,” Malfoy mutters through his mouthful of glass, and Alba’s face lights up further. _ God, kid, you’re way too easily impressed. _ Cord flashes another pose and expertly refills Alba’s glass, practically glowing under the praise. _ This old man is acting way too cool. _

“Oh, Alba-kun,” Cord speaks up, “are you staying the night? It’s still raining pretty hard out there.” As if to accent his words the lights flicker again, a rumble of thunder following a mere second later. Malfoy glances uneasily at the door, waving his hand dismissively when Cord moves to refill his own glass. 

Alba shakes his head. “No, I have to be at the castle before dusk,” he says, and as if just remembering something Alba puffs his chest up proudly. “I got called by the king as a chosen hero, Cord-san!”

Cord’s brows shoot up into his hairline, and a toothy grin spreads over the old man’s face. Malfoy immediately gets the impression that Cord must see Alba pretty frequently while the kid was growing up, and this is entirely (but pleasantly) out of the blue. A glance at Alba, who’s trembling with barely-concealed pride and excitement, only furthers the thought. 

_ Kid’s so scrawny he looks like a gust of wind really would take him down, _ Malfoy thinks, chuckling. Alba’s gaze flicks to him and his cheeks puff up indignantly. “What?”  
“Nothin’, kid,” Malfoy soothes, still amused. “They just go around handing out the hero title to everybody nowadays?”

“No,” Alba shoots back, annoyed. “I was _ chosen. _Keyword there, pal.” He turns back to Cord, whose smile crooks up at the corners into an amused grin, but Alba keeps an eye on Malfoy.

“The way you said that makes me think you don’t know.”  
“Don’t know what, _ hero _?”

Alba sniffs, and Malfoy does roll his eyes at that. Definitely a kid.

“They say that the Demon King Rchimedes has revived, so the king has started to gather descendents of the Great Hero to the castle in order to send them- send _ us _\- on a quest to defeat him.”

Malfoy’s grin falls the second that name is said, and he stares at Alba. Alba doesn’t look like he’s joking, but he has to be. Nobody would be so calm if Rchimedes really has been revived. Malfoy tries not to notice that even just his _ name _ makes a tight coil of anger and unease form in his gut. 

“He isn’t revived,” Malfoy says firmly, and Alba’s eyes narrow. 

“According to the king, he is.” Alba argues, snippy. He looks a little fed up, and if he wants to fight then Malfoy would be more than happy to oblige. Alba pushes away from the counter, crossing his arms. “I’m a chosen hero, so I don’t really have the time to hang out with you. I have to go to protect the world’s peace!”

_ Irritating. _The starry-eyed heroism that’d sparked endearment minutes before now ruins all the optimistic thoughts he had spared Alba in his head. Malfoy straightens, his own eyes narrowing in disgust. Alba doesn’t look at him, having turned to say a warm goodbye to Cord. Malfoy takes this as his chance to leave, his mood soured well enough.

Malfoy tosses a wave to Cord as he walks outside, unsure if the old man even saw it and honestly not caring. _ Chosen hero my ass. _At least it’d stopped raining so hard, only a few drops soaking through Malfoy’s shirt as he stalks away from the little shop and into the desert. 

He’d go to the castle and see what was up. It doesn’t take much to reach that conclusion. Rchimedes couldn’t have revived-- Malfoy had been seeing to that for long enough. But hearing his name and the fact that some sort of hero convention was being called doesn’t sit well in Malfoy’s chest. He needs answers and, preferably, to see what this clown convention is about for himself.

Malfoy notices, maybe a bit too late, that the wind has started up again and is throwing wayward raindrops into his face. He turns his eyes up and--

A second tornado, approaching him like its sole mission is to strike him down. Part of Malfoy thinks of running back to Cord’s little oasis and warning everyone, helping evacuate, but then he thinks of Alba’s smug face as he described his supposed duty and his eyes narrow.

_ Let the “hero” take care of that. I have more important things to do. _

Like die in a tornado, apparently, because Malfoy’s momentary thinking has allowed the beast of a storm to inch ever closer until it looks like he’s mere feet from it. 

“Oh, fuck--” Malfoy raises his arm, intending to blow the damn thing away, but nothing rises up when he tries to use his mana. Remembering the same thing happening earlier, he swears, squeezing his eyes tightly closed as he tries again. He feels a spark, but it’s nowhere near enough to do more than flick a raindrop away.

_ This is it for me-- there’s no way I can run away in time! _

A light illuminates the sky and like an angel ripping the clouds apart in its descent the storm dissipates as the beam shoots straight through it. The residual wind and rain slaps Malfoy headlong in the face, and he struggles to wipe it clear to get a good look at the scene in front of him. That certainly hadn’t been his mana that produced such a light, so it could only mean somebody with that powerful of an energy is here.

Crouching in the middle of where the tornado had been is a girl in a green tracksuit, and she straightens as Malfoy opens his eyes. 

“Huh?” The girl looks around, squinting through the fog she’d made on impact, and Malfoy tenses when her eyes fall on him. _ She’s strong. _

“I thought I felt hero Malfoy’s power just now,” she says, her gaze piercing straight through him. Something twists inside Malfoy’s chest at the reminder of the name, and he tilts his chin to glare at her. Anybody who brings that name up immediately draws his suspicion, especially with the apparent revival of the one that spawned the legend behind it. “But, who are _ you _?”

In a split second, she’s at Malfoy’s side. She stoops, bends, and turns awkwardly to gawk at him, and Malfoy would have been annoyed had the sensation of pressure not increased when she got near him. _ She’s _ ** _really _ ** _ strong. _His breath catches; if she attacks him now, without his mana… he grits his teeth at the mere idea.

“I don’t even know what Malfoy looks like,” the girl says, laughing. She pokes at him, curiosity akin to a child’s clear in her eyes. The pressure in Malfoy’s chest mounts, unease pooling in his gut. She feels like a storm cloud next to him, all buzzing energy and latent danger. No, she’s more than a simple cloud; she’s the entire storm _ and _ its havoc wrapped into one. He can barely think, let alone speak in defense of her next statement.

“Hey~ your magic power is so weak though!” She claps him on the shoulder, grinning, and Malfoy swallows. Another thing he needs to figure out. “But you’re so lucky! Because of my mistake, you’re safe from that tornado!”

_ Mistake? _

“Th-thank you very much.”

She beams, her hair falling into her eyes. “Hey, don’t sweat it! Because I’m the ally of Justice, Guilty Justice-sama!” 

Malfoy barely has time to process her words before she crouches down, hands on her knees. She lifts one to give him a little wave, giggling. “Bye, now!”

And with another flash of light, she’s gone. 

Malfoy feels a strange mixture of emotion, still staring up at where she’d disappeared to. Some odd feelings similar to relief, anger, and worry mix a cocktail in his gut.

_ I don’t know about Rchimedes, but someone dangerous certainly has appeared on this side.  
_And surely, she can’t be the only one.

* * *

Malfoy pulls on his new gear with ease, sitting on a nearby crate. His eyes trail lazily over the gathered assortment of people in the chamber. It looks like several dozens of people equipping similar armor as him. Which is to say, not much. He has a breast plate and matching gauntlets underneath a ‘reinforced’ hoodie, and nothing from the waist down save some steel-toed boots and camo shorts. He tied a red handkerchief around his waist to give the ensemble some flair, the bright color setting him apart from the rest of the rabble’s dull browns and greys.

From what he could gather, the soldiers consisted mostly of the castle’s staff. All Malfoy had had to do to get in was say a simple “yes” when, at the door, a guard had asked if he was there for the soldier’s gathering. Apparently, they were all waiting for the heroes to get their briefing from the king before meeting up and heading out. Malfoy looks down at the little paper that’d been shoved in his palm and squints at the number. _ 45\. _ All he has to do when the door opens is find the hero with the corresponding number and hope they have some information as to what they’re doing on this quest, and more importantly more information on this Rchimedes business. Then Malfoy can leg it to wherever he needs to be next and gather his thoughts and get a game plan going. He would have asked already, but things seemed to be in the middle of figuratively popping off when he arrived. 

Bored with simply waiting, he looks back up to people watch. There are certainly some interesting characters gathered. Just off the bat he spots a skinny old man with dark hair polishing his sword and looking thoroughly disgusted with whatever the man seated next to him is saying. The other old man is shorter with distinguished-looking white hair and a lecherous face. Malfoy tries to spend as little time as possible looking at him, eyes flitting to a handsome young woman with blue hair. She’s laughing, a beer in her grasp, and Malfoy squints. Was that allowed? If so, he should have brought a twelve-pack himself. He might just need to be drunk to deal with whatever nonsense this turns out to be.

The woman seems to notice his staring and she locks eyes with him. Malfoy feels a little embarrassed for no other reason than having been seen staring at her, and instantly he ducks his head down and away. She seems to not have gotten the hint, because after a moment she’s standing in front of him. Her breath stinks of booze and Malfoy wrinkles his nose, annoyed. He looks up to complain and gets a face full of cocky smile and hazel eyes. 

“What’sup, kid?” She’s still laughing, and Malfoy struggles not to lean back to escape beer breath. “You got a crush or somethin’? Like what you see?” Her lips spread into a knowing smile, and she puts a hand on her hip and juts her chest out playfully. Malfoy feels a blush creeping to his cheeks, but he finds himself smirking.

“Maybe, flex for me?” The woman makes a face at him, and Malfoy motions dramatically. She shrugs, laughing, and pulls up both arms to flex. She’s wearing a sleeveless shirt, so her muscles (actually pretty nice) are on full display, and Malfoy whistles approvingly. She delights in the attention and strikes a few alternate poses, flexing in every one. 

“Not bad, I definitely like a woman who could beat my ass,” Malfoy comments, thoroughly impressed with the show. The woman throws a lopsided grin his way that actually does something funny to his gut and straightens up, extending a hand enthusiastically. Malfoy takes it and she smirks.

“I’m Alles, I’m a soldier here.” Alles laughs again, almost uncontainably this time as she motions around the room. “I mean, _ obviously. _What about you, hot stuff?” Malfoy raises a brow at the nickname, and then proceeds to almost Fuck Up.

“M--”

He can’t just say his real name. Or, really, his hero name. If people of this age knew who Rchimedes was, they were bound to know the hero who took him down. _ They better. _

“My name is…” He drew out the syllables in ‘is’, hoping Alles was drunk enough to think it was suspense and not for the purpose of making a whole ass new name just to talk to her with. But, thinking rationally, it’d be nice to have a name no one balked at so--

_ “Foyfoy, I need help with this thing!” _ _  
_ _ “I told you to stop calling me that, Marl, that nickname is totally uncool.” _

“My name is Foyfoy,” Malfoy says, the name tasting strange on his tongue. It’s been so long and honestly he regrets saying it already, especially given that Alles’s cheeks puff out with laughter she’s obviously trying to contain. 

“F-F-Foyfoy? Your name is Foyfoy?! Forreal?” 

He glowers at her, feeling stupidly protective of the name now. “Yes,” he hisses, narrowing his eyes. Alles doesn’t take the hint, laughing so hard she’s nearly bent in half. Malfoy helpfully snatches the beer from her hand before she can spill it, chugging the rest of it vengefully.

When Alles straightens up, wiping the tears from her eyes, she gawks at him waving the empty bottle in front of her face.

“Oh, come on! I only snuck in one of those, dude!”

“Don’t make fun of my name then, bitch,” Malfoy returns smoothly, immediately feeling a little mean, but Alles clearly doesn’t take it to heart. She laughs again and shakes his hand again, and Malfoy can’t tell if it’s because she’s already forgotten or if she’s just stupid. He’s leaning towards the latter.

“I like you, Foyfoy,” Alles says, flashing him that grin again. Malfoy hands her back her bottle, smiling easily back.

“You’re pretty okay too, I guess.”

Before they can talk further, the doors are opened and everyone stands. Malfoy slides down off his crate and pats the dust off his shorts. The excitement in the room is palpable, and Malfoy can’t help but join in on it a little. He stands on his tip-toes to peer over the crowd, trying to get a good look at the heroes, and someone further ahead in the crowd (a guard, based off the flustered look he has on his face that shows clear as day even through his armor) starts corralling all the soldiers into a line based off the number they’ve been given. The heroes would do the same, and they’d be paired off quickly and efficiently to gather the supplies the castle has set out for them before heading off on their journey. 

_ I wonder who my partner will be, _Malfoy’s mind begins to wander absently, but he shakes his head. It doesn’t matter who they are as long as they have information on the revival of Rchimedes, and even then Malfoy doesn’t have much use for them beyond that. 

He obediently shuffles into place, briefly wondering if they’ll get a free meal out of their ordeal. The blue haired woman-- Alles-- has slipped a pair of sunglasses on and is standing next to him. When Malfoy glances down to catch what number she has, he can’t see a piece of parchment. He kind of regrets not asking her, kind of wishing she was one of those “heroes” so he doesn’t have to meet yet another new person and deal with whatever that wrought. 

The line of heroes steps forward and immediately the hall evolves into chaos. Apparently several of the heroes don’t know what comes after the number 10 and any sense of order has currently been lost. Now the heroes approach the line of soldiers in a frenzy, loudly asking for their numbers. _ It’s like a sleazy bar full of blind dates, holy shit. _Not that he knows what that’s like, of course.

A young man passes by him without even giving Malfoy a glance to confirm his number. Trying to at least look like he’s paying attention, Malfoy stands on his toes to catch a glimpse at the number written on the charm in the man’s hand. _ 14\. Not mine. _ And how lucky too, because even the slightest glimpse of the man’s face, bright red eyes gleaming maliciously, makes Malfoy shiver. _ So sadistic. I pity whoever gets that one. _

“Number 70?” The voice startles Malfoy, and he blinks up at a suit of armor. He can’t see a face through the face mask, which makes him a tad bit curious. The armor holds out a little silver charm with their number etched into its surface, and Malfoy shakes his head. The voice, high-pitched and feminine, warbles with anguish as they’re turned away and Malfoy points further down the line helpfully. Alles reaches out and taps on the armor’s helmet, looking cross. “O-oh! Alles, is that you?”

The suit moves out of the way, and Malfoy’s honestly at a loss as to the rest of their conversation because they’re talking too low to be heard over the hustle and bustle, and eventually they disappear into the crowd of people, presumably moving somewhere to fetch their gear.

Due to his lack of attention, Malfoy doesn’t watch where he’s walking and shoulderchecks somebody. He opens his mouth to automatically apologize, but he’s cut off.

“H-hey,” a shy voice starts, and Malfoy looks down. And blinks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you!” _ Oh, you have got to be kidding- _

Round face, stupidly parted brown hair, sparkly brown eyes-- yeah, there’s no mistaking it. Alba _ had _said he needed to come to the castle for this exact reason, hadn’t he?

As he comes to the realization and lifts his number-- 45, because _ of course it would match with the stupid charm _\-- Alba pauses. Then he stares, his eyes widening.

“Y- what are _ you _ doing here?!”

Malfoy hesitates, then grins. He might as well play the part, if for no other reason than to piss Alba off.

He holds up his parchment paper between his index and middle finger, feeling a little too giddy about how cool it makes him feel. His number, scribbled in hasty black ink, flashes back to Alba clearly.

“I’m royal soldier Foyfoy. Nice to meet you, _ hero. _”

**Author's Note:**

> in case you're wondering, i got the name Malfoy from the fact that Haruhara apparently got Foyfoy and Marl's names from the hp character Malfoy... it fits. i also got most of the plot here from The Hero of Port City, which is the manga about how Ros and Alba originally meet! i changed some stuff up to fit the au, but it's still pretty much mostly the same.


End file.
